Firebrand

Chapter 524: Hot Choices

Chapter 524: Hot Choices

Hot Choices

"Sir Martel, are you the fool who has been giving away enchanted items to the soldiers?" Although phrased as a question, Sir Lara Chasseur yelled it in a manner to suggest she already knew the answer.

This time, the legion prefect had not waited until Martel and Eleanor finished their training, but marched right in between them to stare him straight in the face.

"If you're referring to the heating stones, that would be me," he admitted; not that the source of such objects could be anybody else. "I can create one for you as well, sir." It took him less than a moment to realise that was the wrong thing to say.

Her expression reflected this. "I am not some pampered silkworm that can only sleep in a palace," she said pointedly. "What is good enough for the men is good enough for me."

An authority figure berating Martel for doing someone a kind turn he felt his anger beginning to boil.

"Now, unless you wish to ferment further resentment between the soldiers, you will cease handing out enchanted objects like they are honey cakes and you are the baker's daughter afraid of becoming a spinster. Am I clear?"

Gritting his teeth, Martel squeezed out a reply. "Yes, legion prefect."

"Try to keep him out of trouble inside the camp as well as outside," Chasseur remarked at Eleanor before she strode away.

Martel slowly exhaled, suppressing his anger until he could speak calmly. "How many tents are in the camp?"

"Far, far more than you can enchant to supply them all," she told him. "Before you were done, your first enchantments would have faded away."

Martel frowned, trying to do calculations in his head. Eventually, he had to concede. "Alright. The legionaries will have to do without."

"They have survived every winter before we came here," Eleanor considered. "We are surrounded by trees that need cutting anyway, to keep the walls clear."

"Fine. But now I feel weird having warmth in my tent, where I live alone, while they sleep five together without comfort."

"Well, at least they have each other to keep warm," the mageknight pointed out. "What are your plans today?"

"What?" Martel's thoughts had already strayed back to the conversation with the legion prefect. "Oh, just an errand in Esmouth. I won't need you, so feel free to do as you please."

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"I shall entertain myself with a game or two of cards, in that case. I will see you later."

"Yes, later." Martel nodded at her in brief farewell, and they separated.

***

With some of his last coin, Martel went to Esmouth. The town was too small for a glassblower, but it had a potter, which also suited the dwindling contents of his purse. For most of the remedies he could make, small jars of clay would work just as well as glass. It was only alchemical potions that required glass to avoid contamination. Mistress Rana had never given him a detailed explanation why something about the earthen clay interfering with the magic, unlike glass, which was cleansed by the fire so Martel would stick to apothecary work for now and save alchemy for later.

On his way back, Martel considered the legion prefect. Their encounter had felt like being back at the Lyceum with a teacher like Moira or Reynard belittling him, hiding behind authority to be safe from retaliation. It irked Martel to simply accept being berated, but two reasons compelled him to do so. Firstly, he could expect far more severe punishment in the legion than at the Lyceum, and it might spill over to affect Eleanor; secondly, he might already be in bad standing with the legate, and it would be foolish to make an enemy of the legion prefect as well.

With these thoughts in his head, Martel paused as he reached the bridge; rather than immediately cross, he stepped around and descended to the water, searching a little while for a suitable stone. That accomplished, he returned to camp for one more round of enchantment.

***

When evening came, Martel was done enchanting, and a lightstone lay on his desk. He placed it in his pocket and got up. Extending his magic, he made his heating stone float into the air and follow him outside. Walking through camp, he attracted curious glances; a few soldiers even began following him at a distance.

Martel continued until he reached the biggest tent in the camp. The stench of blood and sickness reached him long before he stepped inside. Some years ago, just approaching would have made him panic, giving him unpleasant images of his father wasting away from an infection; now, he was accustomed to it, and he walked into the infirmary without hesitation, stone floating behind him.

Scores of cots lay distributed around the big tent, most of them full. A few nurses walked around, tending to the patients. Martel had not met the physician, but they seemed absent, so he addressed the nearest nurse instead. "I thought these might help you in your work." He reached into his pocket and took out the lightstone to place it in her hand. "I'll just leave this in the middle. Hopefully it'll help them recover."

The nurses seemed too surprised to speak; the one with the lightstone simply stared at it. Martel floated the heating stone to the centre of the tent, allowing it to fall gently to the ground. He would have to come back in a day and ascertain whether another would be needed to properly heat up the whole area.

"Thank you, sir," someone expressed.

"Sure. If one lightstone isn't enough, I'll make more. Just let me know how many you need," Martel told them. He gave a nod and left; the soldiers who had gathered to watch him quickly scattered as he walked through them.

Once back in his own tent, he looked at his cold cot with its single blanket. He counted out his coin; a few coppers left. Not enough to buy a second comrade for his solitary blanket; not until he got paid next month. With a sigh, he undressed and crawled into bed, though he kept on his woollen socks from Eleanor.